Opens: April 17-at 12 Noon EST Closes: April 23 at 12 Noon EST
Posted: Fri Apr 14, 2017 8:39 pm
The Family and Their Story
Galla Sile was born and raised in the Flock, never having met her father who was released by her mother long before she and her brother were ever born. So it was that Galla grew up believing that you could have both love and live in the Flock. By all means it has worked for some, but it did not work for Galla’s mother or Galla herself.
The problem was who she fell in love with. Her first set of children came from a hazy night born of the Twisted Tunnel, but her second set came from love. Adrian, beautiful and proud and playful, grew close with Galla and when she captured him, he went with her. But for him the Flock seemed too binding. Unable to carry his signature cleaver or have the freedoms he once enjoyed, he grew bitter.
In the end, Galla let Adrian go because she loved him and did not want to see him suffer but she did not love him enough to follow. Adrian in turn loved her, but not enough to stay. Sometimes love is simply not enough.
Adrian never knew that Galla was pregnant, and for now, he still does not.
Soon after Vanraumolírë was born , Galla's daughter Eeirine goes missing--away from the Flock too long. Galla and some of her children decide to search for her (and the male members of their family that fled) and so decide to live half their time outside of the Flock.
Galla keeps her mate Fantome outside of the Flock, along with any male children born of the line (if they so choose).
Adrian was a part of the first set of children Jessamine had as a result of a union with Devicius. He was raised by Ignis and after a huge fight has not spoken with his adoptive father since. He has two daughters that he doesn't know about with Flora. He met Galla shortly after the fight with Ignis and fell in love - he willingly entered the flock but after some time found that he missed his freedoms outside the flock too much. He currently does not know about the Sinclair herd, as far as he knows his mother left him with Ignis and he's never heard from her again.
Right after he leaves the flock he will decide he should mend his bridges with Ignis and from there will learn about his extended family.
Stuff That Might Help You Or Could Totally be Useless
Galla and Adrian both have two daughters from previous flings. Galla's are Eirenne Skylla and Yvaine Vaire with Absolem. Adrian's are Canna and Jasmine with Flora.
ICly, Galla has a spirit child that is younger than this set of baskets. A gift to repair her and Vanya's relationship in the form of a daughter, Vanraumolírë.
The family is huge. Collectively, for the most part, Adrian's family is called the "Cleavers" or the Sinclairs. However, Adrian does not currently know that the family name is Cleaver. He has not really met many of his half-siblings. (He has several half siblings via Charlotte x Devicius and Jessamine x Relic.)
Galla, on the other hand, has met all of her siblings. She has one brother and one half-brother who remain in the Flock. Her other half-brother was let go/fled the Flock.
Galla's family consists of mostly A names until Galla herself and lots of Elvish names. Adrian's family consists of a lot of Victorian names. Do you have to follow either naming convention/will it matter in the long run for your entry? No.
About this Basket:
This boy is born in the Flock. Whether or not he stays is up to you. Whether or not he learns that he's a Sinclair (and how, we need to know how) is up to you. But remember if he does leave the Flock, there are certain members of his family he will never see again.
As you probably know, females of the Flock are allowed to come and go as they please mostly as long as they follow the rules. Males however, do not have that option. Once a male leaves/is turned out, he cannot come back.
We want you to stay in touch. RP is loved but not required. We would like it if you would at least plot with us though. This boy and his family are very important to us.
The oldest of Galla and Adrian's children together owned by Spoof.
Astraea was quiet as a child. While her sister was off charming anyone who would stand still long enough, she was in the shadows watching. This isn't to say they had a bad relationship - just that she preferred to be the observer.
As a young adult she will accompany her mother in her search for her older sister and other family members.
In general Astraea prefers to learn about a situation before taking action, she spends a lot of time in her own head and sometimes this works in her favor while other times it does not.
My plans for her are tentatively that she spends more of her time with the Flock, but learns about astrology from others in the Flock and also outside it. I want her to eventually be a fortune teller of some kind.
I will not be including a temper on her cert, but if I did it would probably be observant, or quiet.
Tessasilmë is the middle child of Galla and Adrian owned by Nyx. The derivative of her name "Tessa" also means 4th born. Her full name means "to reap.to harvest the starlight" in Elvish.
Tessasilmë is the fourth child and fourth daughter of Galla Sile and also happens to be the fourth daughter and fourth child of Adrian. She never knew her father who had been too much of a free spirit to be allowed to remain in the Flock. Her mother Galla had loved him very deeply, but not enough to leave.
In many ways, she takes after her father in his flirtatious ways. In the Flock, that comes off as an asset. She shares a special relationship with her younger half-sibling Vanraumolírë. Often Tess can come of brass and crass but she has a good heart underneath, at least for those she loves. Though she is a siren by nature. She’s never met a male who she hasn’t grown bored of, which is in part part of her father’s demeanor. She reminds her mother of Adrian very distinctly. The way she weilds the cleaver that Vanraumolírë made her. The way she laughs, the way she flirts. She is young and wild and free, not feeling the constraints that her other sisters have. She likes to keep a pretty little harem and to be honest, she’s a siren luring them in with her beautiful voice and words?
She is full of life, always smiling. Boisterous. Competitive.
Her temper is enthralling.
The youngest and only son. This is who you're trying for!
Posted: Fri Apr 14, 2017 8:40 pm
.:The Rules:.
1. No Whining or "debbie-downers". If you whine we will totally ignore you/your entry. 2. Do NOT reserve a post. I repeat, DO NOT RESERVE A POST. It's our collective pet peeve. You may only edit necessary things if you need to by posting the form (seen below) at the top of your post. Spoof will be reading them as they are posted. Nyx is reading them blind. Which means I'll know the name of the basket entry but not who submitted it. If you need to ask questions LOLTERGEIST will forward them to me or you can PM -[The Spoof]- your questions. Spoof's note: I know I've been scarce but I'll make a point to check every morning this week for PM's before classes. c: 3. Have Fun! Because we sure as heck are!
The Prompt is OPEN. Because we are evil and we know it.
The prompt should show enough about the soquili's personality that we don't need a lot of extra stuff to understand them. That's why there is no personality question. Show, don't tell.
There is one question in the form you must answer, your prompt does not have to be about that. Seriously, you won't earn cool points. Flock or Not? Is he going to stay in the Flock or not? If he stays, what will his role be? Is he happy in the Flock, etc. If he leaves, then why? Where does he go?
There are no wrong answers. Because honestly, it could go either way.
IF you mess-up and REALLY have to change something here's the form to post at the top. If you mess up more than once. You have to PM one of the above people if you changed your entry.
[size=24][color=red] I FIXED IT! (Day and time of fixing)[/color][/size]
Posted: Sun Apr 16, 2017 11:30 pm
This contest officially opens at NOON EST on the 17th. You don't have to wait for me or Spoof to post if you have your entry done, you can just post it. I will post at some point during the day to say that it's open.
Username: Wasteland Wyvern Basket Name: Alandil (Pronounced: /a.ˈlan.dil/ ) Meaning: Blessed friend in Quenya Elvish Temper: Innocent Flock or Not?: Flock. Eventually I'd like for him to be a Whistle Stallion, and in his free time he's in the Artisan Guild making beautiful objects.
Prompt: It was high noon in the Flock lands as Alandil worked diligently on his small project. Sweat beaded the young stallions brow as he carefully worked applied the acidic mixture to the metal plate, allowing it to carve small intricate designs. Finally with one last sizzle the piece was done and he stepped back to admire the weeks of work. Being still young he wasn't allowed to work with some of the rarer supplies and at this time was restricted to just metal plates, paints, dyes, and leather. Even so he was a happy stallion and couldn't imagine life outside of this wondrous place. Sure he was one of the lowest ranks in the herd, being born male, but honestly he didn't see the issue with this. He was well fed, cared for, and had a wonderful family. Shaking his head to rid himself of the sweat he smiled and looked up at the clear, cloudless sky a happy smile firmly on his face. From over beyond the confines of the Artisan Guild he heard someone call his name and when he looked he saw the other stallion he shared bedding with in the young males quarters and his heart skipped a beat. Kyrian, the other stallion's eyes, held a small twinkle as he called out to Alandil, but that was always how he was. Kyrian was kind, gentle, caring, and so many other things. And Alandil was head over hooves in love with him. It had all started when the two had been paired together for lodging. Kyrian had often protected the guileless innocent young colt that was Alandil and slowly Kyrian had stolen his heart without even knowing it. Alandil, innocent soul that he was, was afraid to make his feelings known. Afraid of being rejected and having his heart broken. So he kept quiet and suffered as the handsome Kyrian was taken and enjoyed by many of the Flock females. That was another thing he feared. The Flock females. He wasn't sure what he'd do when he reached mating age and was taken as a pet by one of the harpies, but he loved his family and his home and he'd do what was asked of him. In private he'd just keep his true love to himself and just enjoy life as it came. He and Kyrian talked for a bit about their respective Artisan projects before his current lover called him away and he left. Alandil watched him go for a bit, shamelessly admiring his backside, before returning to his work station and handing over his project to the Soquili in charge before being escorted back the Safe Zone by a guard.
((Time skip of about a year))
The weather was slightly chilled as Alandil stepped out of his sleeping quarters with a messy mane and a comfortable sleepy look on his face. Today was his birthday and the day that he started training as a Whistle Stallion under the older males who've been in the 'profession' for years. While a little worried he'd had a good night sleep and was ready and eager to learn. Shaking out his mane he looked back at the lovely collection of shells and rocks his sisters had given him while they were out and about and blew them a kiss before stepping off to start his new life. The sleepy voice of Kyrian wished him luck before his loud snoring resumed. As he walked through the areas, escorted by a guard naturally, he was completely unaware of the females sizing him up and deciding if they'd claim him for procreation later. A blissful life it was...
Wasteland Wyvern
Dangerous Demigod
Offline
AstoriaFallen Crew
Winter Wolf
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Posted: Thu Apr 20, 2017 8:38 am
Username: AstoriaFallen Basket Name: Huákinthos Meaning: "hyacinth flower." In Greek mythology, this is the name of a youth loved by Apollo who accidentally killed him, after which the hyacinth flower sprouted from his blood. Temper: omit (I find my characters tend to change personalities as they grow) But if I were it would likely be Star Crossed Flock or Not? Flock. May eventually leave, but not anytime in the near future.
Prompt: He was never much of a fighter, his build alone could attest to that. He was lithe and thin, but muscular. He just wasn’t bulky, which was good because the one thing he was, was quick. He was also quite strong as he worked on his endurance as a youngster, ensuring that he’d still stand a fighting chance at any rate if he were ever put to the test. He’d always had his sights set on being a Gladiator. Their fancy costumes called to him and it was mostly staged, which was something he was good at.
He found at a young age he was quite the talented stage artist and had a fine eye for accessorising. One could say he was a little flamboyant in that aspect. Whenever he could he’d make garments to adorn himself in or accessorize some of the others. It didn't really do anything for anyone but it gave him peace of mind.
(this will be an NPC for this part but I would LOVE for this to be a real thing with someone’s character. It was just an idea I had and figured i’d go with it. Cause, why not). Kinthos often enough found himself admiring some of the other stallions, he had taken a liking to on in particular but he was a recent edition, someone that had recently been captured and brought back.
Time passed and he confessed his feelings towards him and the other expressed his as well and Kinthos couldn’t have been happier. However, the stallion wasn’t wanting to spend the rest of his life trapped within the herd and tried to convince Kinthos to come with him. He declined and tried to keep him from going, to which the stallion lashed out at him, scaring his face and wounding him badly elsewhere and fled into the night.
He was found by one of his sisters (again this would need consent by either yourself or nyx and can change if I win) and they were able to keep his life from ending that very night. However he was wounded so greatly internally.
After that he fashioned himself a mask to wear to hide the scars the stallion had left him with and has since found his time spent in the Artisians guild but he’s been slowly working on building up his strengths since he still wants to prove himself as a valuable member of the flock and one day compete as a Gladiator or even become a Harem Guard.
Faervel ran playfully after his sisters around the nursery. They were almost always nice enough to invite him to play with them, because they knew he was a good runner and never got rough. He was taught right from a very young age how to be respectful towards the females in his life. So, he reaped the reward; in this case, that involved being allowed to join in this wonderful game of tag.
He was hot on the tail of his sister Tessasilme, when a somewhat infamous voice rang out, slightly sneering and slightly whiny, "Heeeey, can I play?"
Faervel stopped as his sisters did, and stood quietly as the two fillies sized up the newcomer. Ravi was known to be a bit of a troublemaker. Even though he was flock-born, he was headstrong and didn't often do as he was told. Obviously, the girls weren't really in the mood for it, so they shook their heads and said there were enough players already and he should go find something else to do. In Faervel's eyes, this was a completely reasonable thing to say. They had the right to, and had he been in Ravi's hooves, he'd have just nodded and gone to play something else. Alas, Ravi was not Faervel.
The troubled colt growled that he didn't want to play anyways and stalked off. Not particularly caring about Ravi or his feelings, Faervel turned back towards his sisters and the game started up again. They ran and laughed, enjoying their time together. Fae was right on the heels of his sister Astraea, but as they passed a patch of tall grass, she suddenly tripped and went tumbling through the dirt. Faervel skidded to a halt and looked on in shock for only a second, just about to ask if she was okay when a simpering voice came from the grass, "Oh I'm soooo sorry... did you not see me?"
It was Ravi, standing up from the grass, with a half-hidden, gloating smirk. It didn't take more than a moment for Faervel to realize what had happened. "You... you tripped her," he growled. Ravi turned to him and barely had time to open his mouth before Fae was on him, hooves and claws flailing, a snarl on his lips. His eyes seemed to have gone dark; like something possessed. The two colts went tumbling into the grass and with every hit, Fae screamed, "You. Hurt. My. Sister. How. Dare. You. Touch. Her. I'll. Make. You. Wish. You. Were. Dead."
The commotion called over the nursery guards, who quickly descended and dragged Faervel off the battered form of Ravi, who remained laying in the grass, not particularly injured, but still whimpering pathetically.
"Explain yourself!" the attending harpy snipped, glaring down at Fae with a discerning eye. The young colt cowered slightly, his voice quavering, "I'm... I'm sorry ma'am. But... but he tripped Astraea. He... he hurt my sister. I... I don't know what came over me... it made me really angry...". It was true, Faervel had never felt that kind of rage before. It was terrifying, but also invigorating. He glanced over at Ravi and wondered at the excitement he felt at the sight of blood running out of the colt's nose.
The harpy knew these kids. She knew Faervel was usually a good colt, never causing trouble. Ravi was the type that would trip someone. Still... "Faervel, you may not harm anyone in this herd except in active defense of yourself or another member. Your mother and the priestesses will hear of this..." Fae looked away and ducked his head, looking so dejected that the attendant sighed, "But you fought with strength... if you learn discipline, perhaps you will make a good sparing stallion someday". At this Faervel perked up and nodded solemnly, "I am sorry ma'am. I won't let it happen again".
------- Teen -------
Almost a year had passed, and Faervel's interest in physical activity only increased. While other colts started to preen under the girl's flirtations or looked over at the artisan's guild longingly, Fae never ceased to have energy to run and jump and climb. He had grown into a well-disciplined young stallion. After the incident with Ravi, he was given special instruction on how to deal with those kinds of feelings; how to quell that sort of vengeful anger and channel it productively. There was a strong sense of protectiveness and justice in him, which the priestesses saw and knew would be fruitless to suppress. It was obvious that he looked up to the guards and longed to serve the flock in such a capacity.
Meanwhile, Ravi had also been very strongly taught obedience and respect. His outward demeanor had greatly improved over the moons... and yet... Fae found himself avoiding the other colt completely. He could never put a hoof on it, but something didn't feel right about him. It was obvious that he would also make a good fighter; he was bigger than Fae and well proportioned. But he lacked a certain amount of discipline, and some of the harpies definitely noticed his fondness for making kills slightly slower than he needed to during a hunt... almost as though he enjoyed watching the animal die. But as he no longer picked fights or caused any commotion with the other colts, he was allowed to continue living with the other young stallions-- under a very watchful eye.
So when the day came for the harem guards to pull aside a handful of the teens to begin training, it was no surprise that Ravi's name was not one of the ones called. Well, it was no surprise to anyone except Ravi, whose eyes darkened as he glared over at the proud Faervel, who was one of the chosen. The darkness passed quickly however, as the guards moved away and left the excited colts behind. With a forced smile, Ravi approached Fae and called out sweetly, "Well well... I'm surprised they picked you. You won't last a day".
Fae turned from his friends to look over at Ravi for a moment, feeling the dark anger pulse in his head, but he just rolled his eyes before turning his back pointedly towards the other colt. He wouldn't rise to the bait-- he was going to be a guard, maybe a sparring stallion or a gladiator some day. There was no need to be insulted by a bully.
However, the act of being ignored rattled Ravi further and he stepped forward menacingly, "What, you think you're better than me? Runt. I'm twice your size... what kind of fighter are you going to be. You should just go be a dancer".
The other colts grew quiet and look at Faervel, wondering how he would respond, but Fae had been taught not to rise to the feeling of anger bubbling in his chest. He just let out a sigh, rolled his eyes again, and started to walk away.
This seemed to be the last straw. Without so much as a warning, Ravi lunged forward with his claws outstretched, snarling, "You disrespectful rat! Look at someone when they're talking to you!" The attack landed squarely on Fae's shoulder, leaving deep rake marks down his back and side. The pain was a shock to his system, and Fae's mind went blank. He turned around and lashed out, more as a warning than anything else, just to keep the other colt from causing him more pain. Alas, the pain clouded Fae's vision and he didn't register how close Ravi was to him... that is, until his forehooves/claws made contact. Momentum and adrenaline put more strength into the blow than Faervel had intended, and all he felt was a crunch and a squelch... and then there was a thud and screaming and jostling and then... darkness.
Ravi awoke awhile later in a soft nest, laying on his side, with his exposed shoulder covered in healing poultice and leaves. He blinked a few times, confused, trying to remember what got him there. Looking around, he noticed the healer standing over a motionless white form on another nest, a crying mare... and his mother talking to... Fae shuddered-- his mom was talking to a Commander. He froze as the intimidating mare looked over in his direction and noticed he was awake. She walked over with a huntresses' quiet ease, looked down at him coldly, "What happened".
Ravi shivered harder and replied shakily, "I... I was picked to start guard training.... he wasn't... I guess... I guess he got angry. I tried to walk away... he attacked me and... and it hurt... and I just wanted it to stop... and..." The shivering suddenly stopped as he stared back over at the motionless form, with the weeping mare standing over it. It was Ravi. "Did I...? Oh Great Mother... I didn't mean to... I didn't know he was so close... I just... reacted..."
The Commander nodded stiffly, "Your story lines up with what the guards and other colts say happened. We will look further into the matter".
Faervel shrunk slightly and closed his eyes to just block it all out, "I'm... I'm sorry".
Again, the Commander nodded, "Good. You should be. It was reckless and foolhardy to attack without looking at what you were doing. However, your remorse and the unexpectedness of the attack lend to the belief that it was out of self defense. I will speak with the priestesses and the queen. You will remain here until your fate is decided".
------- Adult -------
Faervel grew into a fine stallion. After the incident with Ravi, he spent a few moons with the priestesses, and they helped cleanse him of his dark memory and guilt. He learned of spirituality and self control, and went on to learn of discipline and defense with the harem guards. He loved watching his sisters grow, and often found himself asking them if they ever needed any help with anything. He made an excellent sparring partner, deeply respectful of his opponents and always looking for a way to make the flock safer.
Even though he had no debt to pay for the incident with Ravi, he could not help but wish to make it up to the colt's mother. He made sure to always be available if she ever needed assistance with something her son might have otherwise done for her. It just felt like the right thing to do.
The darkness that came over him during Ravi's bullying never came back. Perhaps it was only something in his youth, or perhaps it needed to be triggered by unjust actions, Faervel never found out and intended to keep it that way. He was a happy, strong, proud stallion-- he had no interest in exploring that tiny dark corner of his mind. He would never know that it was likely the remnants of the instability that ran in his father's bloodline. Unless, of course... some day he ran into another who brought that shadowy monster to life.
Plots: 1) Obviously Ravi is an NPC -- but I'd be interested in finding a harpy owner who would be interested in having their harpy be Ravi's (or some other NPC colt) mom. I'd love to have rps with Faervel helping this mother, whose son he killed 2) Siblings -- I'd really like Fae to be close to his sister... well, as close as they can be in the flock. If either of them travel, he would give anything to accompany them as a spare guard. 3) He'd probably be the taste of more combative harpies-- he'll be very open to being a pet or breeder with any and all females who need his services 4) Looking for young-stallion rp where he is being trained to be a guard, as well as adult rp where he is training other Flock colts how to be guards 5) Looking for some sparring or gladiator matches with males and females alike!
Alanna the Pirate Queen
Feral Vampire
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dawns_aura
Peaceful Demigod
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Posted: Thu Apr 20, 2017 12:01 pm
Username: dawns_aura Basket Name: Merrit Tesla Sinclaire Meaning: 'Worthy of the axe' Temper: - omit - … but if there was to be one, it would probably be something along the lines of artistic
Flock or Not? To begin with, he would be in the flock, though he would eventually leave, finding the life too constricting and wanting to find freedom.
Prompt: ---Colt--- It was a happy time. Lessons in respect. In what behaviours were acceptable. Being allowed to play and be and to discover what he was good at, what he enjoyed and what he didn't care for. He even enjoyed time spent with his sisters, and at times even his mother.
Playing tag, or sparring with Tessa, even at times encouraging Astrea to join in... These were some of his fondest memories. He might not be the strongest, but he was small quick, and was more than able to hold his own. He was not only helpful, but useful in helping his sisters with their training and skills.
He was happy and content with the way life went. He lacked for nothing, and if he wasn't allowed to travel as far as he might wish. Or explore. Well, he didn't really need to know what lay beyond the borders of the colt zone. Or to learn some of the skills his sisters took such enjoyment from. He was content with what he knew, right?
---Teen--- Aside from his long, luscious locks of which he was justifiably proud, he quickly found he had a talent for creating beautiful, functional works of art. From bracers and bits of armor to jewelry and weapons. It started with small gifts he made for his mother and sisters. Pieces that were admired and eventually reached the attention of some of the artisan's guild, and he was assigned an escort and a teacher within the guild to channel his creativity and teach him, and gifted him a young raccoon kit to be his hands and allow him to create ever more beautiful pieces. Pieces of which he could be proud. Perhaps even enough to bring him to the attention of the those of higher rank, to earn their respect and commissions for his work. That was the height to which he could aspire.
It was a dream, and one he could well attain with practice and hard work. But still... He had moment when he would wonder. What was beyond Flock lands? What was out there? The Good, the Bad, the Indifferent... he was curious about it all. But he still had a life here. He had dreams. And they were attainable. Maybe one day though. One day he would have the recognition and respect he not only deserved, but respect he earned. And then, then he might get the permission to go after his other dreams.
He might be allowed to explore.
---Stallion--- The heat of the workshop was intense, and Merrit's normally well-coiffed tresses hung loosely around his face in complete disarray. He focused intently upon the task he was given. The creation of a beautiful but deadly weapon to be worn by one of the guards. It was an honor, he was told. An honor to be commissioned by a mare of such rank. To provide a female with such an important item. It implied a level of trust in his skill that was
Green eyes critically appraised the weapon his raccoon assistant held up for inspection. It was a lovely thing. All clean lines with delicate etching and jewelled patterns. It was beautiful and deadly, at least to look at. The real test would be how it felt when he held it. When he swished it through the air and then tried its edge against the log that was in the corner specifically for that purpose.
Nodding to his helper, Merrit indicated he was ready. That he was ready to test the blade, and see that his work was up to the standard he was known for. As the raccoon placed the blade down carefully, he took a deep breath. This was it. This commission could be the one for him. The one that made his name. That would earn him the respect he deserved.
And would allow him to chase his other dream. That would allow him the chance to leave the Flock Lands, and the careful, watchful eye of his escort. And let him learn. Let him experience. Let him be.
This was it. So he lifted the blade. Tossed his mane to get the hair out of his eyes, and he swung the blade.
Posted: Fri Apr 21, 2017 12:33 pm
Username: Mahogany Sunset Basket Name: Salvator Nyárë Meaning: Saga of salvation (Quenya + Latin root). Temper: Spellbinding Flock or Not? Flock!
Prompt:
Eyeing the fresh orange and small strip of steak that had been placed on the blanket before him, Salvator smiled softly. The filly who had offered the trade looked up at him with huge bright eyes, curious and awestruck. Salvator leaned down to meet her gaze and gave her a deep bow. "Where would you like me to start, madam?" he asked. Carefully, he knelt down to fold his legs underneath him in a more comfortable position, and inclined his head for the filly to do the same. They would be here for a while.
"Where you left off the other day, Nyárë." One of the filly's claws darted forward and nudged the orange toward him.
Stopping the rolling fruit with his nose, Salvator let it rest in front of him. "It's not polite to speak with one's mouth full, madam. I will eat when I've earned my half of the bargain."
Nodding agitatedly, the filly shifted a little and looked at him expectantly.
"Once upon a time," began Salvator, "a young sister ventured out to find her first pet. What was her name again?" He looked to the sky, as though he might find the answer there.
"Valora," whispered the filly.
"Valora! That's right," said Salvator, nodding. "Named by her mother for an auspicious future. Valora set out on a hunt to find her first pet. Her father thought she was too young, but her mother thought she should go. It's time, she'd said, for you to contribute. Her father had insisted that she did enough for the Flock: Valora hunted and foraged, she didn't need to capture a male yet. But after her mother's urging, she became determined. She would prove her father wrong. She could do more."
The filly looked away from Salvator. "Her father didn't understand."
Salvator shook his head. "He didn't. But he had been captured by Valora's mother. He couldn't be expected to understand."
Grimacing, the filly turned back to Salvator. "I don't suppose he could. Continue."
"Yes, madam." He gave her another little smile. "Valora searched high and low for a new pet. She patrolled the borders hoping to intercept one, carefully avoided skinwalkers hoping to rescue one from their clutches, ventured out further than she had ever been away from home before. It was only thanks to the guidance of the Great Mother that she did not become lost."
"Did she find one?"
"She did, madam," said Salvator. "He was a great brute, with huge bat wings, wolf paws, and the horns of a demon. If not for the fact that he did not bear a pelt, she would have thought him a skinwalker and taken it upon herself to end his life. Valora was a skilled warrior, you see, who knew quite well how to use her claws. However, while battle is one thing, capturing a pet is quite another.
"Now, this brute of a stallion looked fierce and mighty, but Valora knew that things were not always what they seemed. Some small spiders could bring down a herd, after all. This stallion might look fierce and mighty, but he stood stock-still, staring in one direction. Not even his tail trembled. So Valora approached him, braced to leap away should he suddenly attack."
The filly's eyes went wide with anticipation; she leaned forward on her blanket.
Doing his best to hide a tiny smirk, Salvator continued. "He did!"
The filly flinched, staring at him.
Continuing in a rushed, hushed voice, Salvator kept the story going. "The stallion whipped around, his bat wings flaring, horns lowered and claws at the ready. Who approaches so warily? he asked, and his voice was deep like a bass bell. Valora took a deep breath to steady herself. I am Valora, a Sister of the Flock, she told him, and I am here to take you.
"Take me? asked the stallion, taking a predatory step toward Valora. She gave no ground. Take me where?
"Take you to a place where you will want for nothing, where you will be cared for all your days, where the streams flow clear and the trees grow tall to the sky. I am here to take you to the place I call paradise. I am here to take you home."
The filly before Salvator exhaled a long breath.
"The stallion stared at Valora. After long moments, he stood upright, furled his wings, and took a step toward her.
"Many days later -"
"Wait, Nyárë!" cried the filly, and Salvator met her gaze.
"What, madam?"
"You skipped a part!"
Shaking his head, Salvator grinned at her. "I did not, madam. It's all part of the trade. You must let me forge my own tale."
At the filly's look of frustration, Salvatore gave her a wink.
"Many days later," he continued, "Valora returned to the Flock with empty talons. No stallion followed behind her in ties, nor even followed her at all. Her mother was disappointed, but comforted her. Valora could try again next time. Her father, however, was righteous: he knew she did not possess the heart of a harpy, to do what the rest of the sisters did. She was like him."
The filly gasped.
"Furious at her father's shameful cowardice, Valora tied a lead around his neck and dragged him from her mother's side. The clamor drew a crowd, and soon, sisters followed Valora and her mother as Valora pulled her father through the forest. At last, they came to a small clearing.
"Within it, a stallion with bat wings, wolf paws, and the horns of a demon stood, patiently waiting. When Valora's father, mother, and sisters laid eyes on him, they were struck speechless. Valora let go of her father's rope.
"I present to you this stallion, known as Balthazaar, she said. He has come here of his own will to join us, without coercion or bindings. And he has come here to belong to me."
The filly gasped once more. "She claimed him, Nyárë? Just like that?"
Salvator nodded. "Just like that. And Balthazaar agreed. He said he had been so moved by Valora's description of this place, of our home, that he could not deny her desire to bring him here. And he lived happily ever after, without ever wanting to leave. Valora went on to capture many more males with words alone."
"Wow," murmured the filly. "I want to do that someday."
Salvator leaned forward. "I imagine you could, madam."
Blinking, the filly seemed to think about it for a moment. Then, quick as a flash, she got to her feet. "You can eat now!" she exclaimed, and then she was off.
Chuckling, Salvator got to his feet and carefully sliced the peel from the orange with a talon. A fellow stallion came over to him. "Do all the children come to you for storytime?" he asked, eyeing the piece of steak still lying on the blanket.
Salvator slid the meat over to the stallion. "Many do. And sometimes the stories change their paths. I have seen a few young colts change their perspective and a few young fillies change their ideas when they've listened long enough."
"Is that why they call you Nyárë, storyteller? Because yours sagas are long?"
"No," said Salvator. "They call me Nyárë because calling me Salvator gives me too much credit."
Winking at the other stallion, Salvator bit into the orange and walked away, humming as he chewed.
Username: Kaya Wolf Moon Basket Name: Callon Meaning: Callon is one of the rare and appealing Sindarin names, meaning ‘hero’. Temper: Adaptable Flock or Not? He would remain in the Flock until young adulthood and then would be escorted from it.
Prompt:
Everyone has a story. Some stories do not have a happy beginning, some do not have a happy ending. But, day by day, these tales take shape. They unfold throughout the passage of time, taking many twists and turns along the way, until the sojourner meets his predestined end. Nobody knows what the next day may bring. But we acknowledge that tomorrow must come and that we must be ready for it. Past and present are what mold us, what build our stories, so that we can meet the future headlong. Everyone has a past, a present, and a future. A story to be told. This story…is mine…
I was born the only male to a mare in a group known collectively as “The Flock.” They are a proud race of warrior harpies. Brave and strong and fierce, their prowess in the art of the hunt and fight knows no bounds. At one point in time, I considered myself to be one of them. Not in the full-fledged sense, of course. For I am male. You may ask, what does that have to do with anything? Well, in Flock tradition, males are considered the subordinate ones. We have “mistresses,” “owners,” “partners,” whatever the term the harpy chooses for us to utilize. It is mainly when we are young, the ages of foals, where the gender stereotypes are less apparent. Yes, we males are still taught to respect our elders and to yield to any female. Yet we are also allowed to interact with those our age without the need for formalities. As a foal, I abided by all the lessons imparted unto me. I said “thank you, ma’am” and “please.” I inclined my head to the elder harpy mares when they passed by. And spoke softly so as not to offend. However, even the most innocent of incidents can be mistaken for something more when you are a male in a female dominated world…
“You did that on purpose!” Aredhel shrieked at the young colt before her. “Nuh uh! I didn’t even see you there! I was trying to watch that bird before it flew away.” The young one defended himself with a stamp of his hoof for emphasis. “I’m telling!” Her response was instant as she searched for the harpy set to watch over the nursery that day. “Freda!” A large mare appeared from the side, a curious expression upon her face as the sun glinted off her armor. “What is it little one?”
Aredhel whipped her entire body around, glaring at the young colt. “He tripped me!” The elder mare’s curious eyes instantly went cold. Her tone was mostly flat when she spoke next, though there held in it a hint of something more ominous. “Did you do this, Callon?” His head bowed, the colt focused on the ground before him. His tail flicked in a nervous manner even though he had done nothing wrong. “No, madam, not on purpose. I was watching a bird and wasn’t paying attention to where I was going. I accidentally bumped into Aredhel and she fell over.” “He’s lying! He did it on purpose!” “I did NOT!” Callon exclaimed, frowning at her insistence that he had done something intentionally. He would never do such a thing. He was a kind and gentle soul who wanted only to please. “Bite your tongue, boy!” Freda did not have time for impertinence. She had many children to watch over. Despite Callon being flockborn, it was still perceived as an affront to their given roles that he should speak so sharply.
“You shall come with me. We will speak with Galla Sile about this and determine your punishment.” Freda stepped aside so that Callon could come beside her. Turning back to Aredhel, her features softened some as she motioned with her muzzle to the other fillies nearby. “Go and play little one. It will be taken care of.” The elder mare then nudged the colt forward and the two started walking. Callon’s head hung low in shame and confusion. Why had Aredhel lied about him? Peering back over his shoulder at her, he could see the wicked grin gracing her muzzle. She stuck her tongue out at him before sauntering off to the others, pleased with what she had done.
That was the first moment in my life that I understood the intrinsic value of gender roles. For, while it ultimately came to light that what I spoke was truth, there were very few consequences for Aredhel. A week’s worth of chores for her were all that she got. I, on the other hand, was not allowed to interact with any of the other foals until it was certain that I would not go about shoving future harpies over and displaying dominance. A solid month. Still though, I couldn’t fault her completely. I admitted that I wasn’t watching where I was going and strove to remedy that. The lesson I learned that day was to always be aware of one’s surroundings, no matter the location or situation, because you never know who or what you might run into.
As I grew older, I studied the ways of the Flock like many other colts my age would. Though I was made to study a bit harder due to that one small instance in my past. Eventually, however, I came to be regarded as one of the most well-behaved, obedient, and kind souls. The females took great pleasure in my soothing voice, my increasing attractiveness, and my ability to adapt. I molded myself into whatever they desired at the time. A young stallion capable of singing, of dancing, of listening. Whatever they asked of me, I would cheerfully do it. All for the sake of pleasing them. I existed to serve them and I knew no greater honor or purpose. Until, that is, I encountered an older stallion. One not born of the Flock…
The sun beamed brilliantly at its zenith in the heavens. Sounds of frolic and laughter rang throughout the meadow. Here, males younger and older of the Flock could run about in sport and jest, enjoying the lively atmosphere and fresh grazing. Guards remained stations at various points throughout the area, but that never bothered any of the stallions. They could do as they please so long as they didn’t go against Flock regulations. Callon was one such stallion. After a brief game of tag with a friend, he decided to rest for a time. The young stallion, his dark coat glistening, sauntered over to a prime spot under the shade of a nearby tree. Another stallion currently rested there as well. “Do you mind if I join you?” The older stallion lifted his head, giving a faint nod in acquiescence. Callon noted the gesture with a nod of his own before settling into the grass, eyes roaming over the meadow filled with stallions. “You’ve been quiet today, Lorcan.” He said after a moment had passed. “Yeah…guess I’ve got a lot on my mind.” “Oh?” The younger stallion felt a pang of curiosity at the statement. Lorcan was known for having a lot to say. He was a storyteller after all. For him to be so introspective raised a smidgen of worry. “Is everything alright?”
Lorcan didn’t respond at first. He seemed to be contemplating something deeply. Callon had been about to apologize for intruding upon his thoughts when the older stallion spoke at last. His voice low yet unabashed. “You know I’m not flockborn, correct?” The young stallion hesitated before slowly nodding his head. “But you’ve been with the Flock for as long as I can remember…” “Yes,” Lorcan agreed. “But there are many things that I remember from my time outside of the Flock. Things that I’ve begun to miss lately.” He remained as vague as possible, knowing that speaking of life outside of the Flock could be grounds for death. “Would you like to hear a…story?” The question was rather sudden and it took Callon aback. What if the guards were to overhear this story? Would Lorcan be punished? Callon didn’t know how to respond at first. Though the gleam in the older one’s eyes told him that Lorcan had it figured out. He would tell his stories without fear of reprisal of the guards. “Mmph.”
With a simple incline of the head, Callon’s path had taken an unexpected turn. Lorcan, a masterful storyteller of old, conveyed wondrous tales of lands far beyond the borders of the Flock. Lands unseen, species undiscovered, and warriors even stronger- stories that Lorcan wove into imaginative pictures with his lithe tongue. And he did so under the guise of fairytales or legends of the ancestral lands. Such was his ability that even when within earshot of the guards, he could spin the tale to make it seem like nothing other than a fantastical reminisce of what the Flock had achieved. His passion enticing the ears of any whom might listen in. It thus it went for the better part of a year. Until, one day, Lorcan was not to be found among the group of stallions in the Safe Zone. Callon inquired about his friend, but to no avail. It was as if he simply vanished…which very well might have been the case. Despite his friend’s disappearance, something had begun to grow within the younger stallion. A sense of something he had yet to know.
And so it was that I had the second epiphany in life. My dear friend Lorcan, whom I later found out had been killed by one of the harpies, entrusted unto me a thirst for life. His passion for all things made me yearn to have what he did. To honor his memory by pursuing all that I could. A wanderlust had started to brew, yet it would take me a while to realize it. He had planted a seed that would sprout soon enough. I started to take a hard look at my life in the Flock, what it meant to be flockborn or captured, to be female or male. What had once seemed right to me now neither felt right or wrong. It was the way of the Flock and that is what I honored. Yet, somewhere along the way, I desired something more. I wished to have some sort of purpose other than what was available to me in the borders of that territory. But to speak of these things meant instant (if the Queen were to be merciful) death or to be tossed out unceremoniously.
Which is why I chose to speak with my mother. She, of all the harpies, would be the most understanding and less likely to destroy me. It pained me to discuss the topic with her. I didn’t want her to think that I hated it in our home, because I truly didn’t. But, as with my father, I also didn’t enjoy it enough to wish to stay. I felt that my life would have more fulfillment and meaning outside of the confines of the territory, and told her as much, being certain that she knew how much I loved her and my sisters. I would always be a trinket, a plaything, a simple companion while in the Flock. I would never just be…me. She apparently understood my predicament, though I doubt I’ll ever know how much it hurt her (if at all) to hear it. The following night, under the cover of darkness of the waning moon, we stole away from the area. Her strong presence guiding me blindfolded from the territory of the Flock so that I may never again return. Our parting tore at me more than I care to admit, and possibly more than she would care to also. I am free now, though, capable of forging my own way in life. Or so I would like to think…
Okay so this got super long super fast. There was so much more that I wanted to put down, but felt I should stop right there. BUT there are a few plots!
1. I would absolutely love family plots when he is a foal and young adult. I want to explore that world with him, show how it molds his character. He is both adaptable and resilient and being flockborn is part of what gets him there. 2. In my head, he is telling the reader his story from the confines of a Skinwalker’s lair. He has just been captured by her after having been out of the Flock for a few months. I’m thinking the Skinwalker would toy with him a bit before he is rescued by my charmed Walker, Hollow. 3. Speaking of Hollow, he would take Callon under his wing so to speak. Show him the ropes of the world he now finds himself in. He’d help him grow in many ways, ultimately cementing Callon’s desire for companionship on equal gender terms. 4. The last major plot I have in mind is for him to find out he is a Sinclair. The easiest way of which is for him to find his father and track information down from there. I’d also love family RP with any Sinclairs should I happen to win this boy.
Posted: Sun Apr 23, 2017 1:13 am
Username: Junglerunner Basket Name: Lómion Meaning: ‘Child of the twilight’ in Quenya Temper: Flamboyant. Flock or Not? Flock.
Prompt:
‘Oh darling! That just won’t do. No, no, no…’ He clucked his tongue then took a step back, tiling his head to one side he cast a critical eye over the young mare. ‘I know what’ll do it. Just… stay there.’ He lifted his left leg slightly and then pushed it towards the ground in a gesture for the mare to stay put. He walked out of his small cave which he traded from in the artisans guild, taking one last fleeting glance at the mare over his shoulder, he left her there looking a little worried.
‘Pretty little thing you have there Lómion, bit young and innocent for you though?’ A fellow male traded called out. A near by sister working a pestle whilst making a body paint looked up from her work and cast a warning glance.
‘Well you know Jago, wheres the challenge in charming such an innocent. I like to work hard.’ He winked then walked off towards the area where most of the blacksmiths worked. The fires and heavy trades separated from the lighter more delicate crafting areas. Lómion made his way to the largest and most famous of all the smiths, but it wasn’t the smith he wanted to talk to it was Arthek the great stallion which controlled the bellows and fed the fires. The stallion was sweating ever so slightly, which was amazing seeing as though Lómion wanted to pass out from the heat every time he got this close to the fires. Arthek was several hands taller than himself, he took some of the flutter genes from his mother, but Lómion didn’t fear the massive stallion at all. ‘Darling do you have anything pretty for a client of mine?’
Arthek continued to work the bellows harder getting the flames a little higher, the smith looking up from her work as if to reprimand the stallion for pushing the heat beyond it’s optimal range but then decided otherwise as the colossal stallion turned from the flames and faced the petite pristine stallion who looked out of place in this setting. Arthek said no words but pushed Lómion back out of the smithy and in a deep voice commanded ‘Stay out of the smithy, the dirt will ruin you.’ Arthek’s eyes drank in Lómion and Lómion could see the itch in his lover that he wanted to touch him but he restrained himself. Arthek turned and lumbered off to a nearby alcove and then came back with the most delicate silver work but it was hard to make out what it looked like not on a wearer. ‘It’s a head-dress, small well crafted chains dripping from the sides to connect to the decorative plating which rests on the shoulders and rump with more delicate chains to drip and rest on the body. It’s one of Elowen’s pieces.’ He nodded over to the Harpy working at his fires, who seemed to be watching the male pair interact rather than focusing on her work. ‘Now go, I have work to do and so do you.’ Lómion closed the gap between them and pressed the bridge of his nose into Arthek’s chest, feeling the large heart pumping, then stood for a moment until Arthek groaned and berated Lómion, ‘Wash your face before you go and handle any silks, I will have to work twice as hard if I have to replace ruined silks as well as gift you my silver works.’
‘I am skilled enough to get enough payment to supply myself with silks and a whole bolt of fine Badieh Badawie silk is worth ruining for one moment with you.’ Arthek smiled ever so slightly but turned and left Lómion standing outside the smithy with the silver work. Elowen called out, ‘Get back to work Lómion, that silver work is a whole 6 months wage for Arthek. You’d need to work twice that to ever earn that amount wrapping silks around my sisters!’
‘Oh you’d be surprised what I get paid just wrapping silks Elowen’ He wasn’t going to push the cheek with the harpy smithy, he knew his place. Gathering up the well crafted silver work he turned and headed back to his cave, reminiscing as he walked. Arthek was a captured stallion, brought to the flock as a young stallion, some years older than Lómion. Lómion remembered the day like no other, even as a young Soquili Arthek was huge, it took three harpy sisters to restrain him. He was chained, heavy iron pins hammered into the ground in at the edge of the safe zone kept him in the flock territory. He watched as days went pass how Arthek fought the sisters as they attempted to tame his temper and break him into flock life. He was used as a sparring partner but all that rage was never burnt out of him. Lómion use to watch as other males when to comfort him at night, to tell him to work with the sisters to make his life easier, but nothing worked. Lómion went and took a turn one evening and saying nothing to the enraged stallion he just lay down next to him and slept. This went on for nights until Arthek himself sought Lómion out to sleep next to, Lómion’s presence bought peace to Arthek and so they slept most nights, together.
Lómion crossed the area which marked the boundary to heavy crafts centre to where most of the other crafters sold and produced wears. Running down the wall of the collapsed cave was a small waterfall, the sound of it echoed in the background noise of the artisans guild. Lómion made his way to it and pushed his head through the crystal cooling waters, which was welcomed after standing in the heat of the smithy. But nothing compared to the heat he experienced as a young stallion when he took his first escorted trip to the Uunule Noyi dessert. Lómion was a well brought up flock stallion, he had learnt that to get anywhere within the boundaries of the flock and his sex that you needed to learn three things; how to obey, how to please and to have a trade. The second two sometimes going hand in hand in some cases, like a whistle stallion but Lómion saw them as separate. He had begun to train with the whistle stallions how to please harpy mares but Lómion soon found the best teachers were the harpies themselves and so he learnt to please. Pleasing harpy mares brought him pleasure of course but also he was gifted for his pleasure providing, the better he was the better the gifts and the more the sisters vied for his attentions but this wasn’t enough. Some sisters just didn’t want to gain pleasures of the body by gifting and buying it so not all things were open to Lómion through this channel. He wanted a trade, this led him to becoming an apprentice to a mare who specialised in crafting and dressing dancers. It was well known Badieh Badawie silk traders sold the best silks and during his apprenticeship he was gifted the rare experience of leaving the flock territory with his trade master to go and pick silks of his own.
Lómion cherished the freedom of being able to travel with escorts to trade with the Badieh Badawie, he took the crafts gifted to him from his female clients to trade for silks and other objects not found in the artisans guild at home, these bought him various clients in his silk cave, be that young dancers or fillies coming or age. Or more mature clients just looking to deck themselves out in exotic silks and fine jewellery. Lómion had built a reputation for himself, he was sought after and highly paid in one area of work or the other.
He pulled his head from the cooling water and flung his head one side to another liquid beads spraying from his hair. He collected the fine silver work and headed back to his young client. ‘Where have you been!’ She cried as he entered.
‘Finding you the best slier work your sponsor can afford! Now be still.’ The young mare eyed up the jewellery and gasped.
‘Thats crafted by Elowen, her mark is on that plate. I can never afford this!’
‘No you can’t, but as I said your sponsor can and I wish to strike a deal with her.’ Strike a deal, another term for earning favour in Lómion’s world. The silver work was indeed expensive and he’d sell himself short but earning favour with the dance master always worked in his favour one way or another. He placed the head piece on the mares head then gently pulled out the chains, resting the shoulder plates on her body then the larger rump plates. He adjusted the decorative chains, which he noticed small bells had been incorporated which brought a small smile to his face, Arthek knew who he was dressing this morning and the importance of earning favour, he’d given him this piece of silver work in particular. Taking a step back he took her in and announced, ‘Well my darling if your reputation is true and you are the dance masters new prodigy then you’ll have everyone in the audience tonight eating out of your claws. Come.’ He beckoned her towards his mirror, she made music as she moved and gasped when she saw her reflection then after a moment just jumped up and down like an excited child. ‘Oh, Lómion this is perfect.’ She pecked a small kiss on his cheek and squeaked. ‘Thank you so much, how can I ever thank you?’
‘I think you know my dear.’ A twinkle in his eye shone and the young dancer nodded then exited his cave.
And we have a first place, though it was hard to choose. As you all know, Nyx read all the entries blind and Spoof did not, but we did not confer on names of who the entrants were, ONLY the names of the baskets.
And simply, we found we had a hard time choosing. With that being said, the winner of the basket is.....
Mahogany Sunset
Username: Mahogany Sunset Basket Name: Salvator Nyárë Meaning: Saga of salvation (Quenya + Latin root). Temper: Spellbinding Flock or Not? Flock!
We would love to offer the following two entrants mockbreeding permission to customize their boy via customs, mockbreedings, wishing-stars, and all other ways to get a mock-child.
Username: Junglerunner Basket Name: Lómion Meaning: ‘Child of the twilight’ in Quenya Temper: Flamboyant. Flock or Not? Flock.
With some slight modifications to character, we'd love to extend the same courtesy to this entrant. We loved the story, but there are few things that would need to be fixed to work with the family and herd dynamics.
Kaya Wolf Moon
Username: Kaya Wolf Moon Basket Name: Callon Meaning: Callon is one of the rare and appealing Sindarin names, meaning ‘hero’. Temper: Adaptable Flock or Not? He would remain in the Flock until young adulthood and then would be escorted from it.
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